


Requiem for a Dream Thing.

by Proudtobeinvisible



Category: Original Work
Genre: Beauty - Freeform, Color, Dreamers and dream things, Grey-Scale, Horror, Introspection, Lies, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Theories, Truth, ideas, theorems, wonderings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:54:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proudtobeinvisible/pseuds/Proudtobeinvisible
Summary: There is a difference between a dreamer and a dream thing.  Find out about this difference as well as other things come to life under the pen of a dream thing desperate to be a dreamer.





	1. Chapter 1:

There is a vague point in someone's life where they come to such an awareness they cannot help but stop and look at all there is and just _breathe._

 

Naturally I do not expect my words to do this for you.  I hardly expect you to continue reading. 

 

I've learned to not expect anything at all. 

 

But let us continue.

 

This awareness is so profound and beautiful you cannot help but stare at the world.  See it in the light of which it stands. 

 

Mind you, it is not a kind light.  But rather one that shows the truth of what there is.  The pain, the beauty, the happiness, the ugliness, the shame, the imagination, the pride, the dullness. 

 

It shows the truth about the world and with that truth comes realization. 

  
Hopefully.  

 

See, there is a giant and profound difference between understanding and knowing. 

 

Knowing is like school, it tests memorization, it tests the mere surface of the ocean. 

 

While understanding is seeing the ocean in its horrors and able to still describe the beauty of the creations that lurk from within. 

 

There is a profoundness in every sense of the world in this.  The moment where you snap to the realization of this word. 

 

That moment. 

 

I cannot say it fully, but it is a lightning strike.  It is the moment you fall in love with someone.  It is that second between a thunder clap and a lighting strike.  It is the first blossom of a cherry tree.  It is the first breath of a baby.

 

It is wondrous and rapturous. 

 

It is painful. 

 

For at the same time, it is the wail of a child, it is the end of a star.  The spark of a fire.  It is the moment of a heartbreak and it is the final breath of a life. 

 

This moment is the most painfully beautiful second a person can live. 

 

It was, is, magic on the earth. 

 

But what does this have to do with dreamers and dream things?

  
  
Patience. 

 


	2. Chapter 2:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens if I lie?

Read this, then close your eyes. 

 

Imagine a world where every lie you told appeared edged on your skin like a scar?

 

I am assuming you have opened you eyes now and are reading this.    
  
Or else, I have no way of speaking to you anymore...

 

But, how would you look? 

 

I image there would be no one who is scarless, imagine politicians keeping a book of lies they've told.  I imagine trails going easier, liars punished. 

 

But I also imagine the words "I love you," leaving bigger scars imaginable.  Wedding vows turning bloodied at the altar. 

 

I imagine the words "I believe in you," raising the biggest scares on a fingertip.

 

I imagine writers having the biggest scares of them all.  For we specialize in lying.  We lie to ourselves.  When we create worlds saying what we've made is rooted in fiction.  We lie when we say it is a hobby and not a life. 

 

We lie in such broad and specific terms that we might as well be covered in lighting to the day we die. 

 

I imagine so much... its hard. 

 

For in this world.  I imagine every time I speak I would be covered in scares fading and unfading. 

 

I deal in half truths, how would I look like, scars pulsing and pounding as words drip from my mouth. 

 

Half truths that tattoo my skin, fading and fissuring all at the same time. 

 

The magic of the lies we tell just gone.  Now and forever more. 

 

Can you imagine if someone told you I love you and them getting a scar.  Or someone telling you their name. 

 

No one would be safe.

 

Especially me. 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who remembered he had a writing blog. This mofo

I have dreamt a world where whiteness, and blackness and grey are the only things anyone can see.  

 

No color, no Roy G. Biv or any of his siblings.  Just... a grey scale.

 

Think, everything we see, nothing.  No blue as the sky or green as grass. 

 

Nobody to able to admire the Prince of Paintings works, or the rainbow's glory.  Or the rhapsody of a sunset. 

 

The amazing majesty of all we've been taking for granted gone, like we have ever seen them. 

 

How would we know though?

 

How?

 

How could we miss something we have never experienced before?  Would there be an aching in your chest?  Something unnoticeable but there? Like wound you didn't notice until someone points it out?  Or a splinter you didn't realize you had until you saw it in your palm.

 

Or perhaps we don't miss it at all.   Not even feeling it.  Going through out lives without the idea of something more than greynesss. 

 

Perhaps without color we would be more.  Perhaps we wouldn't have predigest against hose darker than ourselves. 

 

I've seen it.  And maybe we would be better without it.

 

Color for no strife. 

 

Strife for color.

 

Perhaps color is an allegory for all we are. 

 

The strife colored red.  Pain blue.  Happiness green.  Purple for lust. 

 

Roy G. Biv giving us what we take for granted...

 

But I know the splendor of a sun.  I have tasted the beauty of the spectrum.  And I know

 

I will rage a way if someone dared take what is mine purely because I am human. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
